#enchiiridion

[wingherc]

@enchiiridion

｢𓆄｣ "Whoa, hey, did I miss the renn faire in town or something?" A curious and genuine question from the heteromorph, if not a little rude...But, he liked to have fun!

"Or wait, are you cosplaying in public? That's a little cringe, man."

[wiseoldmage]

@enchiiridion liked for a starter!

If there was one thing that Elminster hated, it was not knowing things. The old wizard, left with nothing but the a modest cloak and hat and a wooden sword at his side, was more confused than he'd ever been. That was saying quite a bit: El was no stranger to visiting realms and planes of existence that absolutely confounded him, but he'd always (well, most times) had an anchor: the weave. A tether of magic that permeated and surrounded all things at all times, the fuel for arcane life and the source of magical power. His patron, Mystra, Goddess of Magic, had always wrapped the weave around El like a caretaker tucking in a child... but there was little to feel here. Nothing was as it should be- he found that he could cast "Shield", which meant that there was *something* to this place. His understanding, however, was simply far too little. If the weave was here, it was spotty and random like an artist flicking paint at a canvas in hopes of making a unique design. There was no beauty to be found in that for Elminster, however. Only fear. What good was a wizard without his powers, or the knowledge that he'd spent thousands of years trying to better understand? He could recount untold wars and alchemies, the natural and unnatural world as he'd known it was as much his playground as it was his own canvas. Here was just... confusion. He'd seen so many people already- royals and fighters, people who appeared to be from a time and place close to his and yet also those of varying shapes and sizes. None of it made sense... this realm was chaos. Perhaps that was why his brain sent him going to the only place that made sense: the library. Surely even in a place as chaotic as this, hallowed halls filled with works from learned scholars would reel him back in like a feisty fish on a line! It had taken asking many people, likely confusing many with his confusion and desperation, but eventually he was pointed to the Spirale Annals. "Good," he said aloud as he entered, "I shall find myself as many books as these old bones can carry, I shall obtain sustenance for my research, and I shall begin all over again. I have conquered the mysteries of many a realm before- what is one more under my repertoire?"

[viladlind]

@enchiiridion asked: "so, i don't think i'm dying, or anything, and it's probably not that serious, but ... i'm kinda bleeding. a lot." taken from this prompt list.

fiyero opens her front door to find volothamp geddarm standing in its middle, leaning against its frame, a tear in his shoulder so deep that most of his shirt is stained in red. his arm is wrapped around his own waist, seemingly holding another wound closed, red spots sprouting from between his fingers. it's been two months, but that's not nearly enough for her experience as a healer to fade and be forgotten: her jaw tightens and she pushes close, pressing a hand to his back to urge him inside.

   there are no words passed between them as she ushers him into one of the chairs in the kitchen. she'll need water nearby, and he seems steady enough, making the trek there without his knees giving in. still, he's wobbly on his feet, leaning his weight into her, and she presses out a breath she tries to keep controlled.

i don't have my magic, she thinks. i don't have my magic.

   ' sit. ' not that she has to tell him so, his weight is already crumpling into the seat underneath him. holding his head up with one hand, fiyero checks his eyes. not foggy, yet, not close to unconsciousness. that'll change if he continues to bleed. she lets him keep pressing down on the wound by his waist, gets to examining his shoulder first. reaching for the pouch by her corset, she deftly pulls out her shears and cuts away the fabric. there's a protest there, by volo, a comment about his shirt in a joking manner, something she doesn't entirely listen to— her eyes stay on the flash of white as she gets a proper view of the injury, a bit of bone exposed.

   it's deep, then. the cut sits between neck and shoulder, so that might be his collarbone. it doesn't look broken, but there's enough muscle in the area for her to be concerned. it'll be hard to patch that up without a cure wounds at her disposal.

   ' quiet. you'll need your voice in a second. ' she tilts his chin to the opposite side, quickly runs to the counter and back with two towels over her shoulder. she has gauze in her pouch so she uses that first. her hand frames the wound, bending over him to check how far it reaches down the back of his shoulder. not too much, small enough for her to start stuffing it. she intends to be quick, then, efficient about it. as much as she doesn't want to hurt him, he'll hurt worse if she doesn't help, and to have him bleed out in her kitchen is simply not an option.

   she could wonder. what happened here, who did this to volo. but she knows him, his curiosity, his tendency to get into trouble if left to his own devices. in a city like spirale, it's not unreasonable to think that he simply upset the wrong person. so it's not like she needs to wonder at all, and her mind doesn't go there, not with her focus single-minded, hands already stained with his blood.

   she's already holding the gauze up before her eyes flit to his expression, and she's not sure if she spots fear or pain there. it's enough for her to yank the small stick out of her pouch, pressing it against his lips. ' bite down. i'm gonna stuff your wound. '

[isolaradiale]

Submitting my application for Volothamp "Volo" Geddarm from Forgotten Realms & Baldur's Gate 3 ! Their application link can be found on the sidebar to the left OR in my pinned.

Welcome to scenic Isola Radiale, Volo!

You will be housed in APARTMENT 312!

You’ll retain your Mending.

You'll also be given a wooden dagger.

– ⋆ diadem.

[darkesturges]

@enchiiridion liked for a starter

Isthari was having the distinct feeling he did not like this world. So far, it was proving to be more of a headache than anything else. Maybe it was the lack of magic. And the new annoying technology. And being in a house full of strangers, while worrying about everything else going on behind the scenes.

Probably the combination of all of them. Which didn't help of course, but it was true. A sigh escaped them, as they walked around, carrying a bag back. This was ridiculous. He had no idea what half these food items were. Or anything at the market. It was overwhelming, in many ways, and he had ended up with a satchel he had filled with many different items he had bought with 'dust.'

Still, the shopping hadn't been too bad. Could have been worse. A lot worse. Something could have gone wrong interacting with others, there could have been a need to do something wrong, or-

Or there could be that damn not-a-bard that he'd run into on his way home.

Of all the people he could have run into from what few memories he had... it had to be Volo.

"... Oh. It's you." Isthari didn't even try to hide the venom in his voice, staring down the distinctly not-bard, tail wagging behind him - not the polite wag of a dog's either. No, more like the whipping of a cats - to and fro and low to the ground.

A rational part of him knew he probably shouldn't be that mad. He really shouldn't. The wizard had tried to help him to get the parasite out. And inevitably, he had ended up with a greater gift in the end, right?

A bigger part of him said no, no. Just because it hadn't turned out worse It had still cost him an eye ultimately. And with magic being on the fritz in this place, whatever lingering magic in the eye probably wasn't working either.

He had every right to glare at the man. Yes. Even if it would only last for a brief amount of time.

[redhorseman]

@enchiiridion

This little man had been snooping around him for quite some time now. Too long for War's tastes. It was more annoying than anything, and a part of him didn't even want to entertain the headache of asking 'why?'. However, he could no longer go about his daily life like this.

He was riding atop his steed Ruin at a casual pace when he glanced back at the fellow once more. Then he let out an irritated noise. "Hrgh...what--" He halted Ruin's movements. "Do. You. Want?"

[unxdeadly]

@enchiiridion

it's an awful feeling, being reduced to a singular facet of oneself. was this the color of her soul? she couldn't deny that possibility, but Giselle felt quite bare. no mask to hide behind, no way to trick people into thinking she was nice and helpless.

so, the brighter hue of footprints leading into the park piques her interest. its a type of blue-green, not unlike a pretty piece of sea glass, something she hadn't seen in a long while. she equal parts wanted it for herself...and wanted to smother it.

"Not many people visit parks after sundown, you know. Not that it's easy to tell what time it is these days." she states it like a fact, the very tone of her voice cold as ice. the deep blue of her footprints seems to pool around her feet in the grass like blood. indeed, the hue seems to hang heavily upon her, exuding an eerie, smothering feeling. "Especially all alone."

[snufkxn]

@enchiiridion

"Oh, so you're a storyteller hm? ...I suppose I have a few stories that I could tell, but then again...perhaps I don't. Afterall, if I have secrets to share, why would I just hand them outright?"

Wait, was it secrets, or was it stories? Perhaps secret stories? Snufkin was just teasing the guy now; it was rather funny.